


The Fiercest Creature Of Them All

by TalBT



Series: Fierce Creatures [1]
Category: Fierce Creatures - Fandom
Genre: Fierce Creatures; Tummy Worship; Big Guy Appreciation, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalBT/pseuds/TalBT
Summary: Vince hadn't entirely hated his time at Marwood Zoo. The guests left at the end of the day and he always had Hugh to keep him going.
Relationships: Vince/Hugh
Series: Fierce Creatures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641571





	The Fiercest Creature Of Them All

Fiercest Creature Of Them All

Vince had noticed Hugh; you couldn’t not, to be honest.

That wasn’t a dig about his weight, although the fact that he was 5”10 but in every direction, the man was definitely fat but also had an incredible amount of muscle. Those arms, that chest, those thighs. Oh, heaven above, below and all in between, those thighs.

Hugh was the guerilla keeper with a voice as deep as the ocean. If he laughed whilst sitting next to you the reverb would shimmy down his body to his boots then spring back up into his throat. It was contagious, and even though Vice didn’t have a lot to laugh about he’d often join in, then Hugh would do that half-smile at Vince which meant Vince would forget which planet he lived on.

That smile. The bastard knew how to work that smile. When the investors came in, all pissed off because a zoo in the middle of fucking England couldn’t get their goddamned Pandas to fuck and make babies it was Vince who’d stand there and listen to them then ask if they wouldn’t like a most excellent cup of tea. Of course, there were always problems with his kettle so they’d have to decamp to the cafeteria which happened to pass the marmosets, meerkats, goats (why the fuck he’d allowed Willa to strong-arm him into getting goats was beyond him) and next door to the guerilla enclosure.

They always came at the end of the day, and usually in summer. Vince thought that the women and at least one of the men had cottoned on to what he was doing so started requesting meetings on a Friday, in August at 5pm, just when the zoo was starting to wind down for the night and Hugh was all hot, and sweaty, with his hair scrapped back, sometimes a bandana and his t-shirt drenched in all the right places.

Hugh would see them coming and ask how they were. His accent, Vince had discovered, was a mixture of something called ‘Home Counties” and Yorkshire. A youth spent with his Grandfather on the farm, piling hay-bales high, eating sausage sandwiches and fixing tractors. “Some Summer’s I’d go out in nothing but a pair of tight blue shorts| Hugh had told him one evening down the Marwood Arms, over a pint of that disgusting ‘Real Cider” the pub was so fond of. Vince thought he was imagining the way Hugh held his gaze when he said “tight blue shorts” so slowly. There’d definitely been a lick of his lips. Vince had to cross his legs and knocked his pint over. Into his lap. “Bugsy, another pint over here, mate” Hugh called out. “And some new underpants”. Vince jumped out of his seat faster than lightning, said he needed to take care of himself and rushed to the bathroom – or ‘loo’ as he was now forced to call it.

“There ain’t no bath in there, they’re bogs” one of them had shouted during a meeting his first week. They’d mutinied when he said he wanted to replace the signage for men and women with “restrooms” – “Where the fuck are they going to rest, you pillock? There’s barely enough space to take a piss, let alone sit down and read the paper!” And they’d called him ignorant.  
And pompous. And stuck-up. And prime. It was these epithets that ensured he wouldn’t be missed for a little while whilst he sorted himself out. He hoped they thought he was being extra priggish when he covered his groin with his hands. Someone opened the door into his face, which meant that his hands flew to his nose before reconvening on his groin.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t see ya there.” Northern accented man excused himself and made his way outside. “’Ey up. There’s no such thing as a Northern accent. They’re all unique and beautiful in their own way. We don’t say a Yankee accent do we?” Hugh had admonished one night when Vince was recounting a tale he’d overhead in the village that morning. The whole scenario perplexed him; an argument about the semantics of accents didn’t even cut it.

Vince opened the door then let two five year olds run through. “You’re welcome” he shouted as they scampered into the front garden. He was getting the hang of passive aggressive behavior. When you lived in a country where they weren’t allowed guns passive aggressive was all they had!

He finally had a clear shot out of the door and took his chance. He just happened to glance back and seat that Bugsy was regaling them with tales of a West African spider and the response was a mixture of laughter, sighs and jeering. They meant it in good humour, Vince had discovered, but they also hated learning about creepy-crawlies.

Except for Hugh. Hugh was watching Vince. Hugh was watching Vince and slowly smiling. Vince was watching Hugh watch Vince as Hugh licked his lips, stared into his eyes and then winked. Hugh winked at him. IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!

Vince smiled, went red and then ran into the gents.

Vince, his trousers round his ankles, head thrown back, biting into his arm in the relatively well-kept single toilet cubicle in the gents washroom of the Marwood Arms, had never come so hard in his life


End file.
